Omens
by Zoi no miko
Summary: A Good Omens Fic. Crowley and Aziraphale have to deal with the after-effects of the almost-Armageddon. From the book "Good Omens" by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman. Slash/Shounen ai.


  
  
  
Omens  
Zoi no miko  
  
Aziraphale poked the perfectly steamed string bean on his plate with his fork, wondering what had happened to it last week and whether it was perfectly safe for him to eat. Pushing the thought away like so many others, he put it in his mouth and chewed, trying to give the impression he was enjoying the lunch.  
  
Not that he shouldn't be enjoying the lunch. Food at the Ritz, as always, was nothing short of delectable. This was on account of it being the Ritz, and on account of the people that lunched there wanting something that was worthy of having their wallet emptied by being there. He knew that the food tasted good. It just had a tendency to turn to sawdust in his mouth today.  
  
Across the table, his companion played with his wine glass, admiring the effect of the blood coloured, sparkling shadow it cast on the tablecloth as he rolled the liquid slightly in the crystal glass. He was talking as he did so, about something interesting, undoubtedly, though probably slightly evil. Crowley couldn't be involved in anything that didn't have the least bit of evil in it - it just wasn't his nature.  
  
And that's why Aziraphale was worried.  
  
He looked down at his plate, studying his companion's face out of the corner of his vision, the dark hair, the almost elegant look to his face that was brought by good cheekbones and the dark hair, the sunglasses that were a necessity, hiding his snake-slit eyes from the humans around them.  
  
Beautiful.  
  
Aziraphale chided himself mentally, forcing down another bean. Beautiful - and evil. Fallen. Even thinking that Crowley was beautiful was wrong of him. Love wasn't sanctioned between angels - they were supposed to give their lives to their cause, to thwarting the adversary. Loving an adversary was so far out of the question, the question itself hadn't even been thought of.  
  
Except by Aziraphale.  
  
"... don't you think so?"  
  
Aziraphale looked up, almost startled, realizing that he was being expected to say something. He swallowed, the green sawdust sliding uncomfortably down his throat, and gave a small cough. "Er.... pardon?"  
  
Crowley gave his companion a look which clearly stated he thought the angel had been hanging around large amounts of dusty books for too long - which, in truth, he had. "Never mind, angel," he said, shaking his head slightly as if to dismiss whatever subject he'd been on. Aziraphale seemed... different since their brush with Armageddon just over a week ago, and he'd been trying to find out why, his curiosity not letting the matter rest. The angel was more distracted, uneasy... though, trying to sort out the mess of the ineffable Plan would probably have a tendency to do that to you. Crowley himself was still trying to convince his mind that his car was in one piece again, and not about to burst into flames every time he drove it near the M25.  
  
He finished off the wine in his glass and set it down on the table, glancing at Aziraphale's lunch. "Looks like I'm not being tempting enough today," he remarked, in regards to the large amount of food still left on the plate.  
  
'trust me. you are.' Aziraphale forced a smile, putting down his fork. "No fault of yours, Crowley. I'm an angel, and one that isn't very hungry right now, for that matter." He pushed back his chair slightly. "Shall we leave?"  
  
"Without paying?" Crowley raised an eyebrow, smiling slightly. "Living dangerously, are we?"  
  
"Er. No." He sat back down, pulling a billfold from his back pocket. He left a fifty pound note on the table, which Crowley added to. Money was no object, really. Just another conveniant miracle. Crowley would have preferred to walk out without paying, simply giving their waiter the illusion that they had, but Aziraphale knew that would lead to cash shortages later on, a stressed out staff, and general all around misery on the part of the humans involved. Which was probably what Crowley wanted, and therefore, what he was supposed to thwart.  
  
He followed his friend out into the street, into the perfectly maintained black Bentley that Crowley always drove and had owned since it was new - which was since the 1920's, or just over a week ago, depending on how you looked at in. Though the cassette tapes in the glove box still had a tendency to metamorpasize into "The Best of Queen" tapes, so Aziraphale had to assume it was somewhere near the same car.  
  
Crowley maneuvered the car through the winding streets of London, finally parking in front of Aziraphale's small bookstore. He turned off the ignition and looked over at the angel beside him. "Mind if I come in?"  
  
"Er..." Aziraphale started. Usually he would have had no problem, but now all he really wanted to do was to be able to sort out his feelings, which he couldn't do very well with Crowley around. "Aren't you supposed to be out tempting?" he asked.  
  
Crowley gave him a funny look. "Then aren't you supposed to be out thwarting? Come on. We just survived an almost Armageddon. I think we deserve at least a little time off."  
  
He was right; Aziraphale relented. They sat in the back room sipping gin and tonic, amongst Aziraphale's dusty old rare bibles and other books, all in their places with no sign of the fire that had ravaged the shop during their Armageddon experience. Except maybe the few, first addition books that were new to the shop in the same way that Crowley's car was as new as it had been before the experience.  
  
Aziraphale thought, more attention on his glass than on the person in front of him who was desperately trying to carry on a one-sided conversation. Finally the demon slammed his glass down. "Dammit, angel!"  
  
Aziraphale looked up, a little startled, eyes innocent. "What?"  
  
"You're sulking and it's pissing me off! I'm the one who's supposed to sulk."  
  
Aziraphale shrugged, not rising to a proper reply. "I suppose," he said, hoping that Crowley would stop talking and leave it be.  
  
Crowley was silent for a moment, playing with his sunglasses between his fingers before setting them on the table as well, the gold snake-slit eyes reflecting concern. " 'Zira... honestly, what's wrong?"  
  
Aziraphale gave a long sigh, not meeting his gaze. "I'm fine. I just want to be alone. Please go home."  
  
"You never get drunk alone," Crowley insisted, knowing the angel was on his fourth glass. "In fact, you never get drunk period unless you're insanely upset. What's wrong?"  
  
"Nothing!" Aziraphale almost snapped. "Just leave me alone, please!"  
  
Crowley bit his lip. The angel's words, while usually light and slightly flighty, were almost sharp now, definite. Maybe it was Crowley that had upset him, then, somehow. He looked at the angel for a long moment, then stood. "All right," he said, simply, and left.  
  
Aziraphale buried his head in his hands, hearing the front door of the store shut, locking behind his friend. Behind his.... He gave a small moan. 'how can i do this anymore, day after day? how can i work with him, feeling like this?'  
  
'how can i work alone?'  
  
The second thought was despairing, discouraging, so much more than the first, and he gave a small sob despite himself, trembling now, frightened of what was to be. When he'd been summoned back to Heaven to prepare for the battle, before Armageddon, it had scared him. Not because of the unsureity of the battle ahead, or the possibility of destruction, but because he hadn't said good-bye to Crowley, because he'd have to fight against him, maybe even destroy him... even at the end when they'd prepared to meet Satan, posed bravely in their true forms, the thought of destruction didn't bother him... it was better than letting the war go on, then having to spend eternity without Crowley....  
  
It was so wrong, so entirely, utterly wrong. He let his head fall against the table, the physical wholeness of the wood oddly comforting. Leaving his glass beside Crowley's forgotten sunglasses, he stood, purging the alcohol from his system, and climbed the narrow, steep stairs to the small attic, laying down on the cot he kept there. Angels didn't need to sleep... probably weren't supposed to... but right now he didn't care. Sleep would be an escape, even if it was only temporary.  
  
It was dark when he awoke, alone and rather cold. He went downstairs, turning on the lights, and made himself a cup of cocoa, sitting at the table again, sipping it, hands cupped around the warm mug. Pulling his attention away from his drink, from himself, he reached out and picked up the glasses, turning them over in his hand. 'forgotten. i'll have to take them back to him tomorrow, i'll -' He thoughts stopped short as something silky brushed his leg, and he gave a yelp, almost dropping the mug onto the table. The silky thing coiled around his leg, small, black head resting on his knee, and flicked his tongue, once.  
  
Aziraphale stared at the black snake for a few moments, then picked him up, letting him drape around his shoulders. It was easier to be around him like this, like he was almost harmless. "I thought you went home," he said.  
  
::I didn't.:: The snake replied simply. ::you were upset.::  
  
"I'm not upset."  
  
::I thought angels weren't supposed to lie. Was I mistaken?::  
  
Aziraphale gave a sigh, resting his elbow on the table, his forehead in his hand. "Why are you so concerned about me, anyway?"  
  
::Because I am. You're my friend, no matter what side we're on.::  
  
"We shouldn't be," Aziraphale murmured. "Beyond all those rationalizations that we're keeping an eye on the enemy by watching each other. We shouldn't be doing that."  
  
The snake slid from his shoulders and two hands grasped them, pulling him from the chair, turning him to face him. "After that whole thing we went through, you're saying this?! After agreeing that Hell and Heaven shouldn't fight, you're telling me this? After we've spent most of creation together, you make up this crap?! What the H- heck has gotten into you?!"  
  
Aziraphale let his head drop, trembling now, the hands on his shoulders warm, real. Frightening. "I'm sorry," he almost whispered.  
  
"Don't be sorry." Crowley replied. "Tell me what's wrong. Talk to me. Look at me, angel!"  
  
Aziraphale forced his head up, forced himself to meet Crowley's gaze. The eyes, for all the harsh words... he was frightened, too. Aziraphale gave a small smile and lifted a hand, fingertips barely brushing his cheek. "Crowley...."  
  
His companion looked slightly confused, eyes flicking in the direction of the hand, then back to the angel's face. "What - "  
  
Aziraphale closed his eyes, let himself kiss the smooth lips, let his arms wrap around the sleek body like he'd always wanted to. Then he moved, resting his head on Crowley's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he whispered.  
  
"Why?" He couldn't see Crowley's face, but his voice was quiet, almost flat.  
  
Aziraphale gave a small bitter laugh. "Because I shouldn't be with you. It's painfully clear. All through what happened last week, I was so frightened... but not because of the end of the world, not because of the battle. Because I couldn't imagine being without you, and I knew that whatever happened, I'd loose you."  
  
The hands on his shoulders moved, one arm encircling his shoulder, the other moving to stroke his hair gently. "Oh G- H- dammit." He gave a long sigh. "Why didn't you tell me before?"  
  
"Because I shouldn't have told you at all."  
  
"So you're going to shun me and spend eternity without me anyway? Is that what we fought for?" He pulled back, meeting the angel's gaze again. "Aziraphale... I didn't fight to stop Armageddon for the humans. I fought for you. I don't want to loose you either." He touched his lips to his friend's forehead, his body shaking in his arms. " 'Zira... I love you." He kissed him again then, the perfect, soft lips, holding the trembling angel to him, and was rewarded as he started to relax, to stop shaking.  
  
"What are we going to tell to - "  
  
"Tell? Why do we have to?" Crowley gave a slight smile at the angel's concern. "Your side doesn't need to know, nor mine. We spend enough time together to begin with, it won't be suspicious. And humans probably think we're gay all ready."  
  
"They do n...." Aziraphale stopped. He hadn't had a lot of experience with humans who preferred their own sex, except when trying to thwart temptation.... But....  
  
"They do. That witchfinder calls us both pansies. Now he'll just be right." He raised the angel's chin as he tried to look away, met his gaze. "Angel... please." He bit his lip. "Don't leave me."  
  
Aziraphale gave a smile, holding him, kissing him again. It didn't matter, nothing mattered anymore. Nothing except Crowley.   
  
"I won't," he whispered.  
  
~~~~  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
